Pain shoots through Morgder's shoulder as he seeks to bring his immense axe to bear, ruining the attack before it can be truly made. The dwarf is relieved when the unsightly--and enormous--vermin's pedipalps release their grip on him. A rain of blows follow as Tharok and Arctorus surge into action. While the spider is driven back a couple of paces, most of the blows inflict only superficial injury on a deceptively tough exoskeleton. A mighty swipe from Arctorus' follow up swing manages to draw forth a gout of ichor and a pained chittering squeal from the black monstrosity.
It rears back on its legs for a brief moment, lashing out defensively with its forelimbs. The motion proves to be not unlike a feint however. As Arctorus spins to avoid a huge, hairy leg, it rushes forward with blinding speed and bites down hard on his neck, narrowly missing his jugular. Torrents of blood spurt forward and down his chest while the spider scuttles menacingly around its chosen, albeit difficult, meal.
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Arctorus lets out a deafening roar as he buries his claws elbow deep in the things abdomen, it's head inches from his face, as he roars in fury into the things beady eyes.
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"Fire of the Forge," Skrioth intones, as she wipes some of the spider's ichor from her face, and into her hair, but ends up with a smear of dwarf blood on her face instead, "mend these wounds, I pray thee," she continue to herself, "even though I am unsure what manner of creature he truly is, and am positive, he does not worship you", "for he is my ally and thus aids your cause."
She lays her bloody hand on Arctorus gently, knowing the touch will inevitably cause him pain. As she does so, she watches the blood of dwarf and dragon-man mingle inexorably. "They may not recognize it, but their fates are now bound together," she thinks to herself.
She casts cure light wounds on Arctorus.
"I hear my lord, I shall work with this one, and perhaps with a greater understanding of your faith, he can receive more of your beneficence should it be required in the future."
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With a terrible wailing and clacking of its poisonous mandibles, the pony-sized black widow collapses to the ground with a final shudder before its legs draw and curl in on itself. The room falls under silence once more save for the whisper of wind through the shattered roof above. Each knock of blood in Morgder and Arctorus' veins brings with it a searing like hot coals.
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In any event, Skrioth will apply aid to Morgder each round until the poison stops. There is a chance she can give him a +4 on his save.
In the aftermath of the short struggle, Grafelda also tries to help Morgder with the poison.
Grafelda is able to mitigate the worst of the poison's toll with Skrioth's help. Coupled with Morgder's dwarfly fortitude, he's able to emerge from the ordeal with his health relatively intact. Judging by the lethality of the poison that burned through his veins, it was a near thing.
Arctorus removes his claws from the things body, panting as his inner rage subsides. Along with the unpleasant burning of venom in his veins, he feels the last bit of healing magic knitting his scaled flesh back together.
He turns and notices Skrioth's hand on his shoulder, and nods a silent thanks to her.
As he catches his breath, he says, "We should check in some of these rooms, make sure there aren't anymore surprises."
"I agree with Arctorus, but before we do that..."
"Again my Lord Angradd, if you would please?"
Skrioth casts cure light wounds on Arctorus again.
Scratch that: Arctorus made his initial saving throw, so he's not subject to the poison effects. Morgder's condition does not improve, I'm afraid.
Nice. Didn't even know you could actively aid someone with a Heal check. In that case, Morgder won't take any further Con Damage (just the initial 2). Grafelda nabbed a +4 to Morgder's check, which also landed him 2 consecutive saves (which cures it).
Qytheerah feels ready to step into the fight as her goddess' power imbues her – only to witness another, more earthly power (namely, Arctorus' claws) neutralize the arachnid threat before she even has a chance to act. Once again impressed by her companions' prowess, seeing their wounds being tended by Skrioth and Grafelda she invokes her goddess' favor as she scours the room looking for clues of Rodrik's – or anyone's – passage.
Resting somewhat obviously upon one of the bookcase's shelves is a hopeknife that glints in what sunlight beams through the gaping holes in the roof. A quick glance reveals to whom the knife belonged, as it was a tale told over some length by the half-orc Brinya. "For Rodrik, my Love" is etched across the blade in an expert hand. As far as hopeknives go, it's one of the best examples of workmanship Qytheerah has encountered. More importantly, it's solid evidence to point towards Rodrik's having been murdered rather than a flimsy suicide. In retrieving the hopeknife, Qytheerah manages to find a false back panel on the shelf. Hidden within is an ornate golden coffer studded with various gemstones. Most of the contents seem to have been emptied, but a small leather pouch filled with diamond dust remains.
On an adjacent wall sits a rotten cabinet that has almost succumbed to the ravages of time and neglect. The sagging and broken wood does a poor job of concealing a cubby behind it, which is easily accessed after moving the furniture aside. A small leather bundle within contains a pair of iron flasks, a steel scroll flask that resembles a sword's hilt, and two small vials clearly marked as holy water.
Finally, the spider seems to have made its lair above where the ruined roof meets the Freestone. Something within the darkened recess appears to be wrapped in an abundance of webbing, appearing as a roughly man-sized websac from below. While possible to reach, it would involve a climb with unsure footing on a structurally compromised ledge.
Skrioth offers, "let me see the flasks and the scrolls."
She casts read magic and deciphers the scrolls.
She casts detect magic and attempts to discern the two potions.
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Morgder grunts as he remains on the lookout. Don't want to get ambushed by any baby spiders or anything while the magic users are checking stuff out.
Qytheerah hands Skrioth the items while holding Rodrik's hopeknife tight.
At least he can be cremated with his true hopeknife. I hope this will bring Brinya a modicum of peace at last.
"We've found his original hopeknife; no-one will be able to claim he committed suicide now" Qytheerah states, inwardly smiling at their small triumph. "Which means the next step is to find the culprit. We still have no clue what it was he was investigating. Arctorus, do you think you can reach that websac? I might try, but my armor is weighing me down..." she says to the well-muscled half-dragon, figuring if there was one who had the necessary strength to face the perilous climb, that would be him.
Arctorus looks up to the webbing, and then to the area he would have to work with for climbing. He narrows his eyes, and heads towards the wall and begins digging in his claws...
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Before he attempts the climb, Skrioth casts guidance on Arctorus, to provide a +1.
Tharok crouches down by the spider and examines the monster with some measure of confusion.
"How did this creature come to inhabit the Plague House with nobody noticing? It's huge. Children often dare themselves to come in here at night. To think..." He shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. Nocks another arrow to his bow, and glances at Arctorus as he begins to scale up toward the egg sack.
Then, catching himself, he turns to the room's exits, waiting and watching for any sign of habitation deeper within the Plague House.
Arctorus finds purchase with his claws easily enough where the boulder meets the failing wall. His quick progress yields to disaster in a hurry. What flimsy structural integrity remained in the hollow above evaporates under Arctorus' weighty advance. His scaled hands seek to regain purchase at a frantic clip, but each handhold is accompanied by more dislodging debris. Ultimately, he ends up pitching backwards and landing with a loud crash on the floor and growing mound of debris. His lungs empty in an instant from the force of the impact.
On the bright side, the web wrapped corpse above is jostled free from the disturbance. Unfortunately, its noteworthy weight falls directly on the gasping draconian figure below.
"By the iron beard!" Mordger makes sure Actorus didn't break anything, mumbling something about recklessness. His attention turns to the armor. "That's a good piece there. I could make use o' that, unless somebody else wants it."
"Looks too heavy for me," Grafelda comments. "Let's continue on?"
"You'll put it to much better use than I ever could, Morgder" Qytheerah says admiring the plate's craftsmanship, feeling a pan of envy as she compares it to her own, self-crafted lamellar.
"Yeah, 'Elda. Let's proceed. We might still find some of the clues Rodrik's was investigating."
Tharok helps Arctorus to his feet, leaning back and flexing his thighs so as to help with the draconian's massive weight.
"Enjoy the armor, Morgder. You've earned it. Let's keep looking."
Again Tharok draws his bow and nocks an arrow, and follows at the back of the group.
"Would it not be more appropriate to determine just who the deceased is, and return his goods to the family?"
"'N how are you gonna do that?" Grafelda wonders.
"I don't know, it just seems we should. Would the smiths recognize the armor and be able to determine the owner?"
"Would it not be more appropriate to determine just who the deceased is, and return his goods to the family?"
Morgder shrugs. "We could try. Looks fairly rotted away though."
"The best I can do is see if I can recognize Sara's craftsmanship... In any case, Trunau citizen or not, he deserves a proper funeral rite" Qytheerah says sympathetically. "Unless he's part of some orc tribe. Then it's just cremation outside the city walls for him" she mutters under her breath, almost as an afterthought.
"If the family wanted it, they should have come looking for him," Arctorus says as he rises and catches his breath from the fall. "Lets get moving. Worry about who this was once we catch the murderer."
It's hard to distinguish from the ruined and tattered clothing whether the half-orc may have come from Trunau or not. The armor is a different affair, having held up extremely well against the spider's assault. Qytheerah can tell it is not the work of Sara Morninghawk--easily determined by lack of her signature sun-and-bird blacksmith's mark that would appear on the inner "trunk" of the armor--since she has worked alongside the half-orc smith for a while now. She cannot pinpoint its craftsmanship with any specific accuracy, but there have been visitors out of Freedom Town that have worn similar items in the past.
Concluding business in the ruined hall of the Plague House, you continue exploring the once-temple by way of the northern door in the entry hallway. Arctorus' ears immediately pick up on movement around the corner ahead and to the left. It sounds like some sort of wriggling mass with the occasional tap of many somethings on a wooden floor.
Morgder grunts and jerks his head. Once everybody is ready, he kicks the door open.
"The only thing I can tell you is this isn't Sara's work, and she's crafted virtually every weapon and armor in Trunau for the last 15 or so years. Orc craftsmanship on the other hand tends to be rather unrefined... Someone from Freedom Town perhaps? Though how did he end up in an abandoned Plague House so far from his hometown?"
Qytheerah sighs audibly. "Another mystery, this one best left for a later time. We'll pick him up on our way out. Let's go." With that, she falls in line behind Morgder and Arctorus, sword in hand.
"Well, you would certainly know better than I. Shall we continue?"
Morgder grunts at Skrioth and continues moving forward.
Arctorus pushes through the door, his right hand tensed in preparation of more combat.
Much to everyone's terror, the floor and much of the walls of the hallway become quickly covered in a veritable carpet consisting of thousands of baby centipedes. They wash over Morgder and Arctorus, wiggling their way between armor and beneath clothing to inflict hundreds of bites on their much larger prey. Most of the bites prove too shallow to inflict any noteworthy injury, but a few manage to penetrate below the surface. Morgder's dwarven blood shrugs off the poisonous assault with ease, but Arctorus is less fortunate.
Ahead, the hallway cuts a sharp corner to the left and out of sight. Sunlight is evident beaming through what is likely another structural failing, illuminating what would otherwise be darkness. Something much larger stirs beyond, its identity an easy guess from the myriad clacks of insectoid legs against a failing wooden floor.
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"How are we supposed to fight this!?" Grafelda asks. She sounds terrified. "We could burn them, does anyone have any oil?"
"I fear I have no way to harm such as these."
Arctorus growls through clenched teeth as he swats centipede's off of his body to no avail. When he hears the more distinct, heavier footfalls of something beyond, Arctorus mumbles, "Then let's go kill the damned queen..." before storming off past the swarming horde and around the corner.
He follows the sound until he locates its source, then slashes out with his right hand, opening several large gashes along the things carapace.
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Morgder winces at all the bites but ignores most of them. "Bloody bugs, come on Arctorus!" He follows the big man forward to find the source and helps pummel it.
Skrioth moves forward also and attacks the centipede:
Brace, Reach
Tharok curses as he backs away from the swarm, hand digging in his packpack as he roots around for a heavy flask. He's seen how dangerous even small swarms as these can prove, immune to ever slash of the sword.
Then Mordger and Arctorus race off around the corner, and like that the party is separated in two. Cursing again, he draws out the heavy flask, tears the cork out with his teeth, and then lobs it at the swarm of centipedes.
Qytheerah stands frozen as the swarm threatens to engulf the party. As Arctorus and Morgder dart forward to turn the queen into mincemeat, she has little choice but to turn towards Grafelda and silently mirror her apprehension.
"We must retreat..." she mumbles just as Tharok's resourcefulness proves her anxieties wrong.
Arctorus rends the enormous matriarchal insectoid to shreds with more ease than he expected. It continues to spasm and twist even after having fallen to his advance, much to the disappointment of Morgder's willing hands. The hallway behind a trio consisting of Arctorus, Morgder, and Skrioth flares up in a sudden roar of flames as Tharok's vial erupts in the midst of the wriggling hive of centipedes. Much of the tiny horde is consumed in the initial burst, but plenty enough remain to continue pushing forward through the hallway.
As one, the tiny host of centipedes spills out into the entry hall and over the taken aback forms of Grafelda and Qytheerah, many of them still flaming from the ranger's alchemical cocktail.
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